Passion's Holdup
by Unconquerable
Summary: What if Schuyler and Jack had met in a different time period? Allegra has fallen ill. How will she find a way for her and her mother to survive? Schuyler makes the decision to adopt the treacherous ways of a highwayman. Set in French Revolution. HAITUS


**AN: So I have a new story! I'm still working on Love Story too. Please tell me what you think.**

**Summary:** What if Schuyler and Jack had met in a different time period? Would they still have a chance? What would be different? How would this effect their relationship? The year is 1794 and Schuyler and her mother were living alone in their estate. They have to be careful with their words, especially in the French Revolution. When her mother falls ill, and with no father, how will Schuyler get the money to pay for her mother's bills? Throw in an accusation of the act of sedition, and Schuyler needs to think- and fast.

* * *

The thrill.

The rush.

That feeling that you got when you were doing something that you weren't supposed to be doing. When you felt empowered because you were resisting. You were rebelling. Something so different than what she was expected to be.

She was told what to do and when to do it. She was primped and preened and forced to sit for portraits. She was paraded around like a horse for sale- and was thought about as useful as one. But it was no more.

She was finally free.

But she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit guilty. She argued with herself that she shouldn't feel guilty when _being_ the emotion the overpowered her so; being free. It wasn't her fault her mother had gotten sick for an unknown reason- an unknown reason to _her_, anyway.

None of it was her fault. Yet, who had to deal with it?

Before her mother had fallen ill, she had warned her about something to come when she was older. Something that would change her, and would inform her of her past.

What she didn't know, was that she had past _lives_.

Old friends of Allegra's had taken turns in teaching her about the way of vampires. What a shock it was. And once the shock was over, she reveled in the irony.

She had become a supposed fable monster that was the exact opposite of what society was trying to make her.

To top it all off, her father- whom she rarely say because of business matters- had up and left for more unknown reasons. He sent money for them to pay for the estate and the servants, but he had left before Allegra had gotten ill. Now that her mother was in the hospital, she had no job to pay for her mother's hospital bills- much less survive on her own; give or take a few maids.

It was because of these reasons that she had donned a man's cloak, packed away a couple of pistols, and jumped on her horse, Midnight. She snapped the reins and her horse trotted forward. She ignored the gravel road, and opted for the shadowy woods, waiting to make her appearance. She listened intently for the sound of hooves and the crunch of the wheels on gravel.

She heard a clamor and the whinny of the horses. She peered through the leaves of the thick tree beside her, and saw the carriage was almost in the proper spot. She pulled on the green handkerchief that masked the lower half of her face, pulled out a saddlebag and held one gun in each of her hands. She nudged her horse out into the open and made herself known.

"Stand and deliver!" she made her voice commanding and deeper, and held the pistols up.

The driver lowered his whip and put his hands in the air. She kept one gun trained on him while she nudged Midnight forward and rapped on the carriage door.

"All of you get out. Out!" she demanded.

The door opened as the passengers complied. Two men got out and put their hands up, one shakier than the lanky and brown haired man that she wouldn't put past about three and twenty. They both put their hands out before them.

"Depart with your valuables here," she commanded as she threw down the saddlebag. They obediently- though the brown haired man was less compliant- put their timepieces, gold, and other valuables into the bag. She became more excited as they actually _listened_ to her.

She was in command! She was in rule! She was _telling _them what to do!

As they finished loading their precious materials into the bag, she raised her right arm, prepared to aim.

"Please, if you will, hold your fire highwayman," the brown haired man spoke to her, "We have given you all that we have- even our _traveling papers_." The way he said _traveling papers_, sounded like they weren't exactly. . . travel papers. "Small hands for a highwayman," he added.

She needed to get out of here. She didn't necessarily need to kill them, just escape. She raised her right arm again, and fired.

The horses bucked, frightened, and galloped off with the driver and the carriage, leaving the two men. She had fired right above the horse's ears to get them spooked. Even the victims had to admit- not out loud of course, it would give the highwayman a reason to test it out- that the highwayman had excellent aim.

With the distraction, she made her escape back to her estate. She leaned down on her saddle and urged her horse to go faster. She allowed herself to smile. Another success. She'd be able to pay for her mother's hospital fees for this month, and maybe a little something for herself.

When she arrived at the estate, she jumped off her horse and led Midnight to the paddock. She took care to go silently and made sure to stay hidden- no one knew about her secret. She put Midnight into his pen and patted him on the nose. She then untied the handkerchief and pulled off the cloak, in case anyone saw her.

- - - - - - -

Just as she was coming down the stairs after getting dressed, Mary, one of the maids, informed her that there was a man waiting in her mother's study. She made her way to her mother's study that had been dubbed her "mother's study" when her father had left. A man was browsing the books on the shelf with an air of a scholar to him. She cleared her throat lightly, which made him turn.

"Pardon me. I wasn't aware of your presence," he stated as he took in her frozen appearance. Frozen was she because he was one of the men she had robbed not twenty minutes ago! "My name is Oliver Barrett. I assume your mother is away?"

She faltered for a moment, and then gained her composure. He had not noticed her as the highwayman!

"Yes, I am Schuyler Van Alen." He held out his hand and in turn she placed her hand in his. She expected him to kiss her hand, but instead locked her hand in a firm grip, and shook it, as if she were a man. She was delighted that this man may have a notion of the equality that she so wanted.

"I am afraid my mother is not in because she has fallen ill, and is in the infirmary."

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that. Even more sorry that I have missed her," he said. She nodded and they lapsed into silence.

"Are you from the West Country?" she asked to fill the silence. He smiled a charming smile.

"Nay. I am from America," Oliver answered. She nodded thoughtfully.

"If you don't mind me asking, Mister Oliver, why have you come here?" He sighed.

"I came to inform your mother of danger ahead. I have heard talk of people accusing her of speaking against the king," he spoke solemnly.

"What?! She has never done so! It can not be true!" Schuyler exclaimed. She usually tried to rein in her temper with guests, but it was too much to bear. _Her mother_, a traitor? "And I suppose you're here to warn my mother because you don't think she wouldn't have discovered it."

"On the contrary. I think your mother is a brave woman for living without a husband to support her family." She looked at him warily, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth or not.

"What will happen now?" she asked anxious.

"If she is found guilty? Imprisonment. If she is found guilty of greater charges. . ." he trailed off, somber.

"_What_ would happen if they happened to find her guilty of greater charges?"

"I wouldn't put it past them to retrieve the guillotine," he spoke quietly while Schuyler gasped. Horror and dread coursed through her veins.

"I-I think I need to be alone now," she stuttered shakily to her guest. He bowed.

"Of course. I'm sorry our introduction was on a rather distressing note. I'll take my leave now. I hope to meet again, Schuyler." Oliver bowed and saw himself out of the room. When he left, Schuyler sunk down into a chair. What would happen to her mother? What would happen while she was in the infirmary? What would happen to herself- Schuyler without a mother? She couldn't bear to think about it. And how would she contact her disappearing father to inform him of what would happen?

_No, not would, think positive Schuyler,_ she told herself.

To occupy her mind, she trekked up to her room, where she had stashed the saddlebag full of her stolen goods. It clunked as she threw it onto her bed. She opened the bag and smirked a little. The men she had robbed had money. And a great deal of it. Golden watches, gold pieces, and. . . travel papers?

She didn't think so.

She pulled a stack of thick papers from an envelope and examined the first in the stack.

It was the warrant for the search of Allegra Van Alen's estate.

- - - - - - -

She packed quickly.

She needed to escape. She knew it was not safe here. Schuyler was going to travel to London where her mother was quietly resting in the infirmary, unaware of the trouble brewing about her. She would watch over her mother in case anyone caught word of her in the hospital.

She left strict instructions with the servants that if anyone wanted inside the house, they were to be denied. If officials demanded to search the house, they needed to see the warrant first. Schuyler knew this was impossible, for she held the warrant herself. She only hoped that they wouldn't be quick about making another; and a possibly worse one at that.

She packed the last article of clothing and lugged the bag downstairs. A servant helped her tie her bag to her horse. She was dressed in pants and a man's cloak again. This time she added a hat to her ensemble. She explained to the servants that it was more convenient. If they were suspicious, they did not show it. The green handkerchief was hidden in her pocket.

She never knew when she was going to need more funds.

- - - - - - -

She rode hard and fast to London.

She needed to get away. And fast. She never knew who might be coming after her or her mother. She had her green handkerchief tied to the lower half of her face. She felt dangerous and cunning. She'd feel even greater if she was able to elude the officials wanting the warrant.

When she arrived on the outskirts of London, it was nearing nightfall. As she neared the small inn, men crowded as they heard the sound of hooves on cobblestones. She dismounted Midnight, untied her bad from the saddle, handed a boy her saddle and slipped him a couple of coins.

"There'll be more in the morning if he's cared for well," she told him. He nodded eagerly and guided the horse to its sleeping quarters. She made her way into the small inn with as much swagger as a man would. When she entered she pulled her hat down and the handkerchief up. The owner looked at her a little suspiciously as she made her way to the counter.

"I'd like one room, please," she once again made her voice low and deep. The landlord told her that the inn was full. It was not until she showed him more gold that she got what she wanted. She wished she didn't have to spend as much money as she did in this crowded and dirty hotel. She waited as the current occupants were evicted and made her way to her room alone.

If you could call it a room.

She avoided the dusty bed and opted for the chair in the corner. She retrieved the bag containing the important papers Schuyler was so intent on protecting. She pulled out the papers and examined them.

- - - - - - -

While Schuyler Van Alen was away in her room, whispers gathered downstairs. Who was this mysterious stranger? And what was he doing in the small town? Accusations and claims were considered. And no one noticed the tiny, drab looking girl n the corner.

Normally Bliss Llewellyn stood out, but she knew how to dress down.

With some misplaced rouge and raggedy, worn clothes, she looked like your average commoner. She was made to be unnoticed and silent- letting her memory do the work for her. She'd repeat the happenings and store them in her mind, safely tucked away for later.

It was her job.

Anonymity was the key, and she was more than fit for the job. It was only up to her employer, as to what she saw as fitting. Come early morning, she would take a look at the mysterious gentleman's horse.

You could tell a lot from horses.

- - - - - - -

Under the warrant for the search of her estate, a document lay bearing treacherous words:

_In the company of AV today. We chatted over tea  
__as she once again spoke sedition in my hearing: "I have  
__a strong hatred for tyranny. I believe that all men and  
__women are born free. If the people act against the  
__king, I cannot say he will not deserve it."_

The initials A.V. obviously stood for Allegra Van Alen. The signature at the bottom of the page was M.D. She didn't know any one with those initials. She'd have to find out. She settled in the chair for a night of restlessness and distress.

Another mystery came to her.

What was Oliver doing with her mother's warrant if he was trying to warn her? Was he lying? Or did he not know?

Surely he must have; the way he implied that his traveling papers were not in fact traveling papers at all.

Her dreams where everywhere all at once. Her mother's face, her encounter with Oliver Barrett, the wind whipping past her as she rode on Midnight, being held captive with the charge of treason, a gag at her mouth.

She started awake, only to find the cold metal of a gun pressed to her chin.

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